


Quarantine

by neveralarch



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: Caretaking, Hurt/Comfort, Illnesses, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 17:07:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15247917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/neveralarch/pseuds/neveralarch
Summary: There's a mild coding virus spreading through the Decepticon ranks. Fortunately, Megatron is immune. Unfortunately, Starscream isn't, and he's quarantined in Megatron's office.





	Quarantine

**Author's Note:**

> This fic contains a flu-like illness, with symptoms such as nausea, fever, and confusion. Please let me know if you need details before reading.

"It's a simple mission report," said Megatron, for about the fifteenth time. "Focus. I'm not interested in your self-aggrandizing blather."

"I'm _trying_ to report," snarled Starscream. "If you’d stop interrupting with your petty questions, maybe we could make some progress."

Megatron sneered and waved for Starscream to continue. He wanted to know how the air corps had performed during the raid on the Ark. Instead, he was being treated to an increasingly incoherent monologue about Starscream's single-handed assault on the Autobot defenses, which were, yes, defenseless against the superior military might of the Decepticons' greatest warrior.

The monologue was typical of Starscream; the incoherence less so. Starscream kept losing his place and repeating himself. Had his processor been damaged? He’d complained about Ramjet at least five times—normally he contained himself to three.

"If the other seekers are so useless to you, perhaps I should reduce your command," said Megatron. "We cannot have our greatest warrior distracted with mere administrative matters."

Starscream's optics cycled slowly. "What?"

"Thundercracker could take your position as Air Commander," mused Megatron. "He could answer my petty questions and leave you free to focus on battle."

"Yes?" Starscream leaned forward, his optics fixed on Megatron as if he were trying to decode an encrypted transmission. "I mean, no, I mean—"

Megatron was warming to the idea. "We must all serve the cause to the best of our abilities, Starscream. If you fancy yourself more a commando than a commander, some adjustment is necessary."

"No, no!" Starscream leaned further over the desk, hands reaching out in pleading. "I can be both! I'm both!"

Megatron hummed. "A real leader would be able to tell me quickly and concisely what his divisions' developmental and material needs were."

Starscream began babbling, significantly more on-topic but not appreciably more comprehensible. Megatron sighed and propped his head on one hand. Maybe he _would_ demote Starscream. Only temporarily—Thundercracker didn't have much presence, and Megatron had long ago learned that seekers respected dramatics more than simple competence. They called it 'charisma.' Starscream had the latent capacity for both dramatics and competence, but the latter emerged only when he felt threatened. A few weeks as Thundercracker's subordinate would be an excellent way to dissolve his complacency.

" _Listen_!" Starscream almost over-balanced as he lunged forward to seize Megatron's free hand. "The, the seekers are excellent in formation, but more drills are necessary to improve their abilities in, in, what's the word—"

"Take your time," said Megatron, already mentally composing the announcement of Thundercracker's new position.

"—Improvisational! That's it! Improvisational combat. And, oh, and—"

 **Hook:** My lord, is Starscream with you?

 **Hook:** He isn't answering his comms.

Megatron interrupted Starscream's attempted dissection of his command. "Hook has been trying to reach you."

Starscream made a face. "I'll deal with him later. I'm trying to give you my report, my lord, as a dutiful—"

Megatron tuned the rest out.

 **Megatron:** He's here. Unfortunately.

 **Hook:** I don't want to alarm you, but we have a minor medical alert.

 **Hook:** Can you ask whether he engaged Fireflight during the raid?

 **Megatron:** Yes, he told me about their battle. Several times. In great detail.

 **Hook:** I'm going to send you a list of symptoms. Again, please do not be alarmed.

 **Megatron:** You're making me uneasy, Hook.

 **Hook:** The likelihood of a fatality is very low.

Megatron matched the data-burst against the physical reality of Starscream. Lack of mental focus: obvious. Blurred vision: likely, given the way Starscream kept peering up at Megatron. Starscream was also leaning heavily on the desk (loss of balance), and his hands were unnaturally hot (core temperature malfunction). While Megatron studied him, Starscream sneezed explosively and then stared helplessly at the mess he’d made of Megatron's desk. Congestion and fluid evacuation. Just wonderful.

 **Megatron:** Explain.

 **Hook:** It's a minor code virus that affects flight alts. It's highly infectious—Dirge and Thundercracker are already down, and I'm scanning the rest of the air corps as we speak.

 **Hook:** It's very irresponsible of the Autobots to send an ill soldier into combat.

Starscream had reluctantly taken a polishing cloth out of his subspace and was wiping at the fluids—and spreading them all over Megatron's desk. He was still jabbering about the air corps. He seemed to have forgotten Thrust’s designation, unless there was a new seeker called ‘Thirst.’

 **Megatron:** I'll bring Starscream to the medbay.

 **Hook:** No!

 **Hook:** I'm sorry, my lord. We need to enforce quarantine unless you want this to become an epidemic.

 **Megatron:** Starscream can't live in my office. You think I trust him here alone?

 **Hook:** I'm afraid you misunderstand, my lord. You're both under quarantine.

 **Hook:** Only flight alts develop symptoms, but you're still a potential carrier for the virus. We need to keep the infection vectors contained until your immunobots are able to identify and destroy the malicious code.

 **Megatron:** How long will that take?

 **Hook:** Only a few Earth days. A week at the most.

"You're not listening," mumbled Starscream. His optics were dim, and he was audibly breathing through his mouth. "You wanted me to report, I'm _reporting_ , I'm—"

"Starscream," said Megatron, struggling to speak past the horror, "I have extremely bad news."

\---

Predictably, Starscream panicked. It didn't matter how often Megatron repeated that it was a minor virus, that he would feel better in a few days, and that there was nothing Hook could do in the meantime. He still had to lock the door and then physically restrain Starscream from breaking out anyway.

"I want the medbay!" shrieked Starscream. "I don't want to be sick, I don't want to die, I don't—"

"You're not dying!" Megatron pulled Starscream away from the keypad he was trying to tear apart. "You'll be fine. I'm not going to let you infect my army just because you're afraid."

"I'm not afraid!" Starscream tried to tear Megatron apart instead, but he was already weakened by the virus and he ended up only clutching at Megatron's plating. "I'm not. I'm, oh—"

He sneezed again, all over Megatron's torso. Megatron stiffened, but Starscream was too self-involved to even notice his leader's rage.

"I think that's insulating oil," said Starscream, despairingly. "My insulating oil is leaking out. My processor is going to burn up from the inside."

"It's lubricant." Megatron recalled the disgustingly detailed data-burst. "Your frame thinks it's rusting, so it produces excess lubricant to coat the vulnerable components."

"I'm _rusting_?"

"It's just the virus triggering random sensors." Megatron tightened his hold as Starscream struggled to escape. "You're not actually rusting."

"Let me go." Starscream pushed against Megatron’s arms.

"You'll be fine," said Megatron. "Really, I'm the one who will suffer the most, having to deal with you for a _week_ —"

"Let me go," repeated Starscream, tightly. "I think I'm going to purge."

Megatron took evasive action, shoving Starscream away. Starscream still managed to get unprocessed energon all over Megatron’s shins.

\---

 **Hook:** The nausea is good. It means his immunobots are trying to eliminate sources of contamination.

 **Hook:** Eventually they'll determine which part of the coding needs to be flushed. It’s unfortunately necessary to be patient. If I do an external flush, I could accidentally delete parts of Starscream's personality.

 **Megatron:** Can I choose which parts?

 **Hook:** Alas, no. Seeker coding is notoriously byzantine.

 **Hook:** Just try to keep him cool and calm. The immunobots can work better if his frame is under less stress.

Calm was impossible, so Megatron focused on cool. After much internal debate, he shepherded Starscream through the connecting door from his office to his quarters.

"Don't purge in here," said Megatron.

Starscream coughed ominously into his hand. Megatron prepared to emphasize his point by force, if necessary, but then Starscream stumbled, and Megatron caught his waist to keep him upright. One of Starscream's wings smashed against Megatron's chin, but Megatron grit his teeth and bore the indignity. He had to remember that it was beneath him to berate Starscream when he was ill.

Payback could wait until Starscream was healthy.

"Where are we going?" asked Starscream. One of his optics was flickering, and his steps were cautious, like he wasn't quite sure whether he would find the floor.

"To the wash rack."

"No. No. I don't want anyone to see—" Starscream tried to pull away. Megatron was tempted to let Starscream fall on his face, but ultimately he would be the one to suffer the consequences when he had to pick Starscream up out of whatever horrible pool of fluids exuded after the inevitable collapse. He tightened his grip and dragged Starscream along.

"You're in quarantine, you fool. We're going to my personal wash rack."

Starscream grunted. Only a few more steps. Megatron shifted his grip a little—Starscream's plating was so hot that it felt as if he were burning Megatron's arm.

They were actually crossing into the wash room when Starscream started shrieking again. His wings flared, and Megatron jerked back to avoid another blow—cracking his head against the doorframe instead. He let go of Starscream, but Starscream clung vindictively.

"I can't see!"

"Then online your optics." Megatron tried to pry Starscream's hands from his plating, but Starscream was surprisingly strong.

"I'm trying!" Starscream fans whirred as he began to hyperventilate. "They won't respond!"

Megatron covered Starscream's mouth with his hand. "You're making yourself worse. Calm down."

Starscream glared. It wasn't as impressive with dark optics.

 **Megatron:** Starscream's lost his visual feed.

 **Hook:** That's normal. The immunobots are systematically cutting sensory feeds in order to identify the faulty inputs.

 **Megatron:** Will they cut his voicebox too?

 **Hook:** Haha. Unlikely.

 **Hook:** My lord, I am always at your disposal. But I now have four other patients here, and we are still identifying new cases. If possible, please restrict comms to emergencies.

 **Megatron:** Define emergencies.

 **Hook:** Spark arrest.

 **Megatron:** I thought you said this was minor virus.

 **Hook:** Probably. No need for alarm.

Starscream's breathing had slowed a little, and he'd gotten lubricant all over Megatron's hand. Megatron pulled it away and wiped it on Starscream's shoulder.

Starscream's voice was blessedly weak. "Are they still there?" 

"What?"

Starscream patted tentatively at his own face. "Did my optics fall out?"

"Optics don't just fall out," said Megatron. It took a surprising amount of force to even tear one from its socket. "You'll be better soon."

"I'm dying," whimpered Starscream.

Megatron lifted him bodily across the room and into the wash rack. Starscream yelped in protest, but only one or two of his pitiful kicks landed and they were easy to ignore. Megatron set Starscream on the floor and turned the solvent to its coldest setting, rinsing his hands before letting the spray hit Starscream's huddled frame. Gouts of steam fled his plating. Megatron was surprised Starscream’s paint wasn’t bubbling away.

"You need coolant," said Megatron.

Starscream hugged his knees. "I don't want any."

"Do you want your processor to burn out?" asked Megatron.

"You said that wouldn't happen. I'll purge again."

"It's only coolant," said Megatron, and went to get it. Fortunately he had a dispenser in his quarters, along with a reasonable supply of energon and a horde of datapads. Everything you needed to wait out a quarantine. Starscream should be grateful. 

Solvent was spilling out onto the floor when Megatron returned. Megatron dropped a towel onto the mess and then climbed into the wash rack and closed the door behind him. There was barely enough space for two mechs, and he had to step carefully to avoid stomping on Starscream.

"Stand up," said Megatron. "You won't get clean like that."

Starscream looked up at him with hazy optics. "What?"

"Oh good, you can see again. That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"I can't hear you," said Starscream, loudly. "What?"

Megatron groaned and hauled Starscream up by one arm. 

"Leave me alone." Starscream twisted away, but there wasn't anywhere for him to go. He slumped against the wall, but that only put him out of range of the solvent spray. Megatron dragged him back, first forcing Starscream’s face into the solvent and then grudgingly allowing Starscream to turn so the solvent pattered against his back. They were pressed against each other, hip to hip and chest to chest, and Starscream’s plating was still too hot. Megatron set the flask of coolant against Starscream's mouth.

"No.” Starscream turned his head away.

"You need it," said Megatron, before he remembered Starscream had lost his audial feed and was even less likely than usual to listen to reason. He fit his thumb and forefinger under Starscream's helm instead, tilting Starscream's head back and pressing sharply against Starscream's jaw hinge. Starscream fought him, but his mouth opened and Megatron poured the coolant down his throat, forcing him to swallow or choke.

Starscream choked. And purged. 

At least they were already in the wash rack.

\---

After twenty kliks, Starscream had most of his senses back and had managed to keep down three gulps of coolant. He was also shivering and trying to slide down the wall, thwarted only by Megatron holding him up with one hip against Starscream’s cockpit.

"I'm tired," said Starscream. "Let me go, I want to recharge."

"Not here." Megatron shut off the spray. "In the berth."

He tried to towel Starscream off without letting him fall, but it was ultimately a losing battle. Finally he dropped the towel to join its brother on the floor, subspaced a few more towels just in case, and carried Starscream over his shoulder to his berth.

His comfortable, pristine, solitary berth.

"I should leave you on the floor," he told Starscream.

"Fine." Starscream squirmed and hit Megatron in the side of the helm with his wing. Megatron was going to tear them off when Starscream was well. "Put me down. This hurts. I want to recharge."

Megatron pulled away the insulating covers and laid Starscream carefully on the berth. After some thought, he drank a cube of energon and put the empty container on the floor where Starscream could reach it. 

"Use that if you feel like purging," he said.

Starscream curled sideways, one wing leaving streaks of red and white as it scraped against the polished metal of the berth. "It's not big enough."

"You don't have hardly anything left to purge anyway," said Megatron. "Just don't get any fluids on my berth."

Starscream grumbled and turned over. Now his other wing was streaking the berth.

Starscream would clean it later. Megatron had more prosaic concerns tonight. The berth was barely large enough for two, but it might be made to serve. If Starscream could be persuaded to settle down. If Megatron could actually recharge with his traitorous second so close to his spark.

"Acid drops," muttered Starscream.

"Hm?" Maybe if Megatron could pin Starscream in place, he could—

"Acid drops are good for nausea," said Starscream.

"I haven't got any," said Megatron.

Starscream turned onto his back. "It's your fault if your berth is ruined, then. Do you _want_ me to be ill? Are you trying to weaken me? Is that why you trapped me in your quarters, so I'd be at your mercy and you could—"

"Believe me, I wish you were anywhere else." Megatron glared at Starscream's wings, which filled the berth from edge to edge. "And if you ruin my berth, you'll pay for it with your life."

Starscream pointedly off-lined his optics. Good. It freed Megatron from the struggle of conversing with him. Megatron took a datapad from his shelf and settled into his chair, resigning himself to a long, restless night and aching struts in the morning.

\---

"What are you reading?" asked Starscream.

"I thought you wanted to recharge," said Megatron.

"Can't," complained Starscream, squinting up at the ceiling.

Megatron set his datapad aside. "Should I turn the lights off?"

"Do what you like."

Megatron snapped his fingers, and the room went dark. He picked up his datapad again and read for all of five kliks before Starscream's whimpering disturbed him.

"Turn them on, turn them on, turn them _on_ —"

"Ridiculous," said Megatron. "You can't be afraid of the dark."

"It feels like my optics are broken again," snapped Starscream. "I’m sure you’d be calm if your frame was betraying you at every turn."

"Use your infrareds," said Megatron.

There was a pause, and then Starscream whined, high and wordless.

"Calm down—"

"I can’t! My infrareds won’t work, there’s lubricant everywhere, and my tank is trying to come out through my vents! I'm falling apart!"

"Focus on me," said Megatron. "You can see me, can't you? Focus on the light of my datapad."

Starscream slowly, reluctantly, quieted. After what felt like an eternity of pointless hysteria, he subsided to mere snuffling into the berth covers, his optics glowing faintly in the dark.

"You could have just turned the lights back on," he said hoarsely.

"You are not _allowed_ to be afraid of the dark," said Megatron. "You're ill, not an infant. Anyway, you could have turned the lights back on, if it bothers you that much."

"If I tried to snap my fingers, they'd probably snap in half," groused Starscream.

Megatron turned back to his datapad.

"What are you reading?"

"Recharge," said Megatron. "You need it."

"I told you, I can't," said Starscream. "I'm thirsty, and I'm cold, and I'm _bored_."

Megatron had to reread the paragraph he was on. “You can’t be bored when you’re panicking.”

“I’m panicking because I’m bored.” Starscream draped one arm over his helm. “My unparalleled intellect needs distraction from the rapid decay of my frame.”

“You must be feeling better,” said Megatron. “Your ego is already recovering.”

“My plating feels like it’s peeling off,” said Starscream, with such sincerity that Megatron set aside his datapad and unwillingly levered himself to his feet. He retrieved both coolant and energon for Starscream. He threw another cover over the berth. He dropped a stack of datapads onto Starscream's stomach.

Starscream scowled at them. "I don't want to read. My head aches."

"Then accept boredom," said Megatron.

"What are _you_ reading?" asked Starscream.

Megatron gave into the inevitable and picked up his datapad again. "Earth mission report, Earth day eight hundred and six. Laserbeak observed Autobot-allied humans building a dam. Current progress: fifty-three Earth days to completion. Dam likely supports hydro-electric experiments by Wheeljack. See Earth mission report, Earth day seven hundred and—"

Starscream groaned. "I've already heard it all at the briefing."

"You've heard the brief version, that's why it's called a briefing," said Megatron. "Soundwave's written reports are more detailed."

"This isn't helping me recharge," said Starscream.

"What do you want, Starscream?" Megatron wanted to throw the datapad at Starscream's head, but he wouldn't. When Starscream was well, he could throw whatever he liked. It wouldn't be as satisfying now. "Shall I read you a story? Sing you a lullaby? Tuck you in?"

Starscream bared his teeth, but any reply was swallowed by a hacking cough which folded him in half, clutching his middle. The datapads tumbled to the floor. Megatron was worried Starscream would purge again, but finally Starscream picked up the empty energon cube and merely spat lubricant into it, grimacing.

"It's not anything I ate or breathed or snorted," Starscream muttered. "It's not rust. It's a code, you need to flush the _code_."

"I don't think your immunobots can hear you," said Megatron.

Starscream's next coughing fit was so violent that Megatron found himself sitting on the berth, stroking Starscream's back and murmuring nonsense to gentle him through it. Starscream curled on his side when he was done, back pressed to Megatron's thigh.

"I wish I _was_ dying," he said. "This hurts."

"What should I read?" asked Megatron.

"I don't care," said Starscream, which was such a patent lie that Megatron nearly pushed him off the berth. But Starscream was still shaking and miserable. Still desperate for comfort. Megatron picked an especially worn datapad off the floor.

"Do not speak to me of suffering," he read. "Do not speak to me of joy. Those who labor in the dark know nothing but the cold press of time. When I had labored for thirty-four vorn, a mech came—"

Starscream pushed himself up, and Megatron hoped he wasn’t going to purge after all. But he only flopped back down facing Megatron, his optics focusing on the datapad. "What is this?"

"One of the greatest works of literature ever produced in Tarn."

"Oh." Starscream squirmed closer to Megatron, sliding one arm across Megatron's hip. "More of your juvenilia."

"It's not _my_ —It's not _juvenilia_." Megatron stroked one hand between Starscream's wings, feeling his temperature. Warm, but Megatron thought it was more from the effort of coughing than the fever. "It was written by Scriptus the Great, one thousand vorn before I was constructed."

"If you say so." Starscream's optics flickered off.

"Are you recharging?" asked Megatron.

"No," said Starscream. "You should keep reading."

"I don't want to waste this on deaf audials," said Megatron.

"I'm listening," mumbled Starscream.

"When I had labored for thirty-four vorn," read Megatron, "a mech came to the mills. He called himself _humble_ , and _lowly_ , and _worthless_. He called himself Drudge. He worked next to me in the line, and when I fished the fresh components from the solvent bath, he was the one who would take them from my hands to dry before sending them on to the polishing mech."

Starscream's fans roared as they tried to pull air through vents clogged with excess lubricant. Megatron shifted in the berth, making himself comfortable. Starscream grumbled at even this brief silence, and Megatron found himself humming to soothe him.

"Even then, I knew he was different. The way my spark jumped when our hands touched, the way he looked at me when he thought I could not see. I knew that whatever he called himself, I would one day call him Mine."

Perhaps this was juvenilia. It had been a revelation to Megatron when he had first read it—the datapad passed into his hand by another miner, who had borrowed it from another, who had borrowed it from another, and so on into perpetuity. He’d soon finished it and passed it on again, but for a moment he could live in another world. A world of forbidden bonds and happy endings. _Those who labor in the dark..._

Even the subtle prose of Scriptus could not approach the complexities of true struggle. Megatron was proud to have cast off the callow idealism of his youth. But he still remembered the brief shining moment in which he thought the fantasy could be real. He didn't want it to be punctured.

It was a good thing Starscream had already slipped into recharge. Megatron read on.

\---

Starscream snored like a garbage disposal being fed a box of razor blades. Megatron glowered at the blank ceiling above him.

He'd finished the datapad groons ago. He couldn't get up to retrieve another one, because he'd foolishly reclined on the berth as he read and Starscream had seized the opportunity to lie on top of him. Now Megatron was pinned with Starscream's helm pillowed on his chest plates and Starscream's arm wrapped around his middle.

No one was answering comms. Megatron had long-since worn through Hook's patience, the medic made bold enough to ignore him by the promise of a long quarantine. Soundwave was frantically tending to Laserbeak and Buzzsaw. Skywarp was apparently the highest-ranking Decepticon still on active duty, which was hideously disturbing. Megatron was seriously considering calling Skywarp to his quarters just so he could infect him and leave the field clear for Motormaster to take command.

Except that also sounded like a terrible idea. Megatron sorely needed to build a more stable command structure. The problem was that when you trained Decepticons to lead, they tended to begin plotting coups.

Lubricant was _dripping_ out of Starscream's nose. Megatron quashed the urge to shove him off. It was only the recharge deprivation getting to him. And the unpleasant slickness on his plating.

He could solve both of these problems by just ripping Starscream's vents open. No more snoring. No more lubricant everywhere.

But no. The spilled energon would be just as bad.

Megatron retrieved a towel from his subspace instead. Apparently unaware of Megatron's great forbearance, Starscream whimpered and squirmed away when Megatron tried to slide the towel under his face.

"Shh," murmured Megatron. "Stop being difficult."

He'd asked the impossible. Starscream mumbled something with only the barest semblance to words, his fingers clutching painfully at Megatron's torso seams.

"You're leaking," said Megatron. "It's disgusting."

"Warm," croaked Starscream.

"You'll still be warm," said Megatron. "Don't you want a soft towel to recharge on? Isn't that better than my hard plating?"

Starscream moaned, but Megatron managed to pry his helm up and shove the towel between them. Starscream fidgeted and coughed, but soon settled again. Megatron stroked his helm in praise, and Starscream leaned into the contact. The snoring faded as he shifted, the new position opening his vents and allowing more air in to cool his heated frame.

Megatron dozed for what felt like a few micro-breem. He woke to Starscream's knee jabbing into his thigh seams.

"Starscream," he growled, but Starscream didn't respond. His optics were offline but his engine was revving as if he were taking off. His hands were still clamped to Megatron's torso, so his apparent attempts to escape or transform simply bashed his legs and wings against Megatron's plating.

Megatron tried to still Starscream's flailing, and had to avoid a headbutt to the face in return. Starscream was choking as his fans tried to draw in more air to support his racing engine. Finally, Megatron managed to pull them both upright, pounding on Starscream's back as Starscream coughed his gears onto the berth.

Starscream didn't purge, but there was a mess of lubricant spattered on the covers and running from every orifice—his vents, his nose, his mouth, his _optics_. Megatron sighed and got up, lifting Starscream out of the berth with him.

"No!" rasped Starscream. "Don't, please, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—"

"Hush," said Megatron. "I'm taking you to the wash rack."

"I don't want to recharge in the wash rack," whined Starscream. "Please, I didn't mean to, I'm sorry!"

"Hush," repeated Megatron. Starscream subsided, sniveling and trying to wipe his fluids from Megatron's chest. Megatron set him in the wash rack and turned on the spray. Not as much steam bled from Starscream’s frame as before, but Starscream looked miserable even as the solvent washed away his secretions.

"Stay," said Megatron, and returned to the berth. He stripped away the covers and wiped down the abused berth with the last of his subspaced towels. There was one remaining cover in his storage locker, so he spread that over the berth and hoped they wouldn’t need another.

The spray shut off in the wash room, and there was a thumping noise and a curse. Megatron looked up to find Starscream slumped against the door frame, clutching a towel he'd draped over his wings and shoulders.

"Feeling better?" asked Megatron.

"No," said Starscream. "What are you doing?"

"This is my last berth cover." Megatron gestured at the cleaned berth. "Try not to ruin it."

Starscream stepped tentatively into the room. "I can come back?"

"You'd probably drown if you recharged in the wash rack," said Megatron. "Leave the towel with the others."

Starscream dropped the towel on the growing pile of soiled cloths and stumbled to the berth. He didn't lie down again—just sat at the head of the berth, leaning against the wall and giving Megatron a deeply puzzled look. Megatron handed him the flask of coolant.

"Why are you being nice to me?" asked Starscream.

"Drink that," said Megatron. "You're ill."

"I know I'm ill," grumbled Starscream, but he sipped the coolant before Megatron could revive his attempts at force-feeding.

Megatron sat on the berth, feeling exhausted despite Starscream’s compliance. As much as six more days of this nonsense, and they hadn't even made it through one night. _Megatron_ would have to see Hook after all this was over.

Starscream listed into a slump, leaning and leaning until he ran into Megatron's side. His optics flickered, and Megatron rescued the coolant from Starscream's faltering grasp before Starscream could spill it and drive them to recharging in the wash racks after all. Starscream's plating was overwarm where they touched, but Megatron could feel him shuddering. 

"Are you cold?" asked Megatron.

Starscream shook his head and shifted a micron nearer. His wings were rattling. Megatron considered his available options, and then wrapped an arm around Starscream's shoulders and held him closer than was probably wise.

"You're doing this on purpose," groused Starscream. "You're trying to overload my logic circuits."

"You haven't got any logic circuits," said Megatron. "What are you rambling about?"

"Being _nice_!" Starscream made a rude gesture with the hand which wasn't anchored to Megatron's hip. "It's part of your plan."

"Cease your mawkish paranoia." Megatron aimed a slap at Starscream's wing, only remembering at the last moment to convert it into a comforting stroke. "Surely someone must have been nice to you at least once in your pitiful existence."

Starscream's wing twitched away from Megatron's hand, then pressed back into the touch. Starscream didn't otherwise react as Megatron played with his ailerons, just snuffled and wiped his nose with the back of his hand.

"I used to get shuttle-sick." Starscream said at last. "And—and a friend would give me acid drops. He didn't want me to purge and ruin his things either. But I don't know why he was nice. He could have just dropped me out an airlock when I looked like I might purge."

"The thought had crossed my mind," said Megatron. "But I think I'd rather have you here, where I can keep my optics on you."

Oddly, that made Starscream bristle. His wing pulled away, and his fingers dug into the wiring of Megatron's hip. "You can't tell anyone about any of this. They won't believe you, anyway. They'll think you're a senile old pervert who _dreams_ of keeping me helpless in his implacable grip, who—"

Megatron cupped the back of Starscream's helm and pressed Starscream's face into his chest to silence him. It was easy to fend off Starscream's weak attempts to tear his face to shreds, and he held Starscream there until Starscream tired and slackened into the touch. 

"Be quiet," murmured Megatron. "You need to rest."

Starscream scowled against Megatron's chest, but his breathing was ragged and he didn't try to move again. "You didn't answer my question."

"When you're well you'll clean my office and quarters with your finest polishing brush," said Megatron. "Until every surface shines. You'll take care of this absurd amount of laundry. You'll fix every single problem that Skywarp is causing in our absence, and you will thank me profusely for my attentions during this extremely trying experience."

"I'd sooner thank a sparkeater for—" Starscream coughed, wetly, and wiped his nose on Megatron's plating. "For eating my spark— _What_ are you _doing_?"

Megatron was trying to get Starscream's disgusting orifices away from his plating without actually letting Starscream go. Starscream, suddenly unwilling to be dislodged, fought back. The struggle ended with Starscream splayed across Megatron's legs, and Megatron gave up and hauled Starscream into a marginally more comfortable position. Starscream's legs dangled over the edge of the berth, but his aft was firm in Megatron's lap, and his head tucked snugly under Megatron's chin. 

Megatron fit his hand between Starscream's wings to stroke Starscream’s flank as Starscream's breathing slowed to something approaching normal. He hoped briefly that Starscream would finally let it go and slip into recharge, but he had fought this war with Starscream for millions of years and he’d learned something of Starscream's character. He wasn't surprised when Starscream kept mumbling about invented diseases, amateur attempts at assassination and, worst of all, Starscream’s impending humiliation.

"I don't have any cameras, more's the pity," said Megatron with amusement. "The crew will never see evidence of my malevolent _cuddling_."

"Then why?" asked Starscream, petulantly. "Why?"

Megatron thought about it and found, to his surprise, that he did have an answer. "When I was a few dozen vorn old," he said, "the corrodic plague hit the mine. While we could stand, we worked. When we fell, the others tried not to step on us. When we were lucky enough to have a moment to rest, we cared for our own."

"I don't belong to you," huffed Starscream, curled against Megatron's chest. Megatron hummed and stroked Starscream's flank until Starscream's frame finally, finally managed to cudgel Starscream's processor into submission and force it to shut down. Starscream didn't relax so much as collapse into Megatron's supporting arms. His nose dripped freely down Megatron's chest-plate.

"I'll ask Hook for acid drops," murmured Megatron. "In the morning."

Starscream didn’t say anything, but his wings twitched in a way Megatron chose to interpret as grateful. 

No one would call Starscream humble. Megatron himself might have called him 'worthless' during one of their many arguments. Starscream would probably prefer to be called 'grand emperor,' or 'the almighty.' But Megatron thought he would call him _mine_ , nevertheless.

\--- 

**Hook:** Lord Megatron?

 **Hook:** My lord, I have very good news.

 **Hook:** My lord?

Megatron lurched back online, irritated by the relentless pinging. He'd fallen into recharge sitting up, and his frame felt like it was forged from tinfoil. Starscream was still plastered against him, his breath whistling lightly through his nose and his vents.

 **Megatron:** Yes?

 **Hook:** The coding virus was an accelerated form. The symptoms were significantly worse than I expected, but the immunobots caught up with it faster.

 **Hook:** All patients in the medbay are recovered, and the potential carriers I’ve examined appear to have fully eliminated the infection from their system.

 **Hook:** I still have to check you for lingering code fragments, but I'm optimistic that you'll be released from quarantine.

 **Hook:** How is Starscream?

 **Hook:** Or perhaps I should ask how many pieces you’ve left him in?

 **Hook:** I know invalids can be very frustrating.

Megatron looked down at Starscream. It seemed a pity to disturb him when he was finally resting. And he wasn't so annoying as a simple warm weight in Megatron's lap.

 **Megatron:** I'll ask him how he feels when he wakes.

 **Megatron:** Check on Soundwave and the other quarantines first.

 **Hook:** Are you certain, my lord? I thought you would want to be released immediately.

 **Megatron:** If you question me again, I'll rip your cables out.

 **Hook:** Of course, my lord. Simply comm me when you're ready.

Megatron leaned back against the wall, smiling to himself. Starscream stirred at the movement, his wings flicking and then settling.

"Hn?" Starscream muttered. "Hnnnngh."

"Hush," said Megatron. "I have you."

 **Megatron:** Skywarp, you have thirty kliks.

 **Skywarp:** Thirty kliks for what?

 **Megatron:** Thirty kliks before I leave quarantine.

 **Skywarp:** Oh.

 **Skywarp:** OH.

 **Skywarp:** Ohhh Primus.

Starscream turned his face into Megatron's throat and just breathed. Quiet, clean breaths. His fingers curled into Megatron's torso seams again, and this time Megatron felt no inclination to pry them loose.

 **Megatron:** Perhaps forty kliks.

 **Skywarp:** Uh, thanks. Really appreciate the update.

 **Skywarp:** Hey, do you remember what color the walls used to be?

Megatron turned off his comm. He’d deal with everyone when Starscream was well.

**Author's Note:**

> If you like this fic, consider [sharing it on tumblr](http://neveralarch.tumblr.com/post/175768612549/quarantine-neveralarch-a-transformers) (or however you do recs).


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